Everything tastes like a distant blue-
As I inhale a scent swimming in pools of gray.
The back of my mind crackles  and flickers
Within a dim flame of black and white.
The air is restricted to catch it's warm breath.
There is  hesitance and reluctant dissonance
Which is sweet like clean dirt.

Nothing to believe, nothing to be still, no one to bury me.
A quiet cold confronts quite disgruntled complications,
And contradicts a subtle faded thought.
All my brights and dulls caress my body
Leaving a film of dust and desolation to shelter my mind.
Ripples of confronted perfection penetrate my chest,
And life grows distant as I become colorblind.

There is no serenity in slumber.
I'm begging somebody to shatter me.
All of me is captivated in confusion, and summer's sun has set.
I'm steady staring at a world on fast-forward,
Standing still with eyelids stitched open, and lips sewn shut.
Nothing forgives or gives in, and
All that is symptomatic is synthetic and systematically copesetic-
Like the lackluster of lament which lingers  lethargically above me.

But when breath stops short and suspends in the air,
And nothing is to beckon or call it back home,
One finds themself empty, and free-
*And nothing matters anymore.